The Divining (21 page)

     Noon came and went. The sun began its descent toward the west as Ulrika pressed on through a region of limestone and chalk, dried vegetation and stones, and no water.

     Finally the brown, barren landscape flattened. Ulrika left the hills and ravines behind, and saw up ahead, in the near distance, the shimmer of pale blue water. The Sea of Salt.

     Although hungry and weary, Ulrika pressed on. There would be people there—food and rest.

     Shadows were growing long, the sun turning orange when she finally arrived at the shore. Ulrika stared at the strange shoreline that seemed layered with a fine, white ash. She had known this was not a freshwater lake, but a "dead" sea of salt, with no plants or fish. However, she had hoped to find drinkable water. But for as far as she could see, all along the salty shore thick with foul-smelling mineral deposits, there were no tents, no people, not even a lone camel. Which meant no fresh water.

     On the other side of the flat, glassy sea, on the far eastern shore, mountains rose, with no signs of towns or cities. Northward, to her left, the River Jordan flowed near the populous and prosperous city of Jericho—but that was miles away, too far for her to reach tonight. Southward, to her right, lay unknown territory. And behind her, westward, the rocky hills seemed to support no life.

     The shore of the sea was riddled with dangerous quicksand pits, hazardous tar pits and pools of asphalt that gave of an acrid stench. She dared not venture farther in such hostile terrain as night was falling.

     Ulrika scanned the hills for refuge. A cave, perhaps. She would search for a well or an underground spring.

     Suddenly, a chilling sound filled the desert silence. The wail of a jackal. A moment later, more wails rose to the darkening sky. Ulrika tried to determine their location. A pack of hungry jackals would not be shy about attacking a defenseless human.

     As she reached for the donkey's tether, to lead him back to the safety of the hills, the jackals screamed again and the donkey bolted. "Wait!" Ulrika cried. He galloped off, taking her packs with him.

     She looked up and saw the first pale stars wink into existence. She thought of Sebastianus looking up at the same stars.

     Then she returned her focus to the western hills, which were now jagged black shapes against a lavender sky. The sun had set. Dusk was upon her. She knew it would be brief—quick twilight and then the desert would be plunged into darkness. And danger.

     Tightening her
palla
about herself, she struck off westward, to the foothills, where deep shadows offered the promise of protection from the night.

     As the moon had yet to rise, and the stars were not yet bright beacons in the sky, the terrain was cast in darkness. Ulrika had to step with care. Pebbles and rocks covered the ground, with snake and rodent holes pocking the earth.

     The wind picked up, chilly, biting. It cut through her
palla
, and she thought of her heavy cloak, bundled up on the back of the donkey. He would not have trotted far, but there was no hope of finding him in this darkness.

     The jackals wailed again, and they sounded closer. Ulrika picked up her pace. Suddenly, the ground gave way and she fell, sharp pain radiating up her leg. Pushing herself to her feet, she saw that she had stepped in a hole, twisting her ankle. She could barely walk on it. Now she limped, slowly and painfully, chastising herself for not having been more careful, for not having the good sense to ride the donkey in the first place.

     With each step, her ankle screamed in pain. It soon became agony to walk. She thought of the supplies in her medical box, the painkillers that would enable her to walk. Even so, such medicines came either in powdered or pill form, both of which required drinking water. A willow-bark syrup would ease her pain, but it too required water for dilution.

     As she neared the foothills, Ulrika scanned the narrow ravines. The gulleys and canyons were cloaked in darkness. She could not make out features. Was that one blocked by boulders? Did that one have green shrubs that might mean water? Could that dark spot indicate a cave or an animal's lair?

     Which to choose?

     As she looked this way and that, up and down the stretch of desolation that lay between the hills and the sea, she caught a dark movement at the corner of her eye. Turning, she saw an animal, watching her.

     Ulrika froze at the sight of the hungry beast that eyed her with golden irises. A wolf.

     But as Ulrika held her breath and watched the wolf—a brown, shaggy creature with upright ears and a tail that went straight out—she wondered if in fact the animal was real, or a vision. Wind whipped around them, whistling down through the small canyons with a mournful song. Sand flew up and blew over the ground like a strange mist.

     Ulrika and the wolf locked eyes. She was afraid to move. If he was real, he would attack.

     But the wolf finally turned and began to lope away, hugging the foothill, its head held high. After a short distance, it stopped and looked back and it occurred to Ulrika that the wolf wanted her to follow. But it did not seem to be headed into a ravine, toward shelter and protection; rather it was staying on the flat wasteland, out in the open, where she would be unprotected and vulnerable.

     "You are wrong," she murmured to the vision, and turned toward one of the protected canyons where she saw a cave. She would be safe in there.

     But the wolf continued in the opposite direction, out into the open. He stopped again and looked back, golden eyes commanding her to follow.

     You would lead me into exposed space! she wanted to cry. But the wolf waited until Ulrika, no longer able to stand up to its power, gave in. She turned and followed it.

     The animal came to a halt at last, stopping, turning, waiting for her to catch up. Then he sat on his haunches like a stone idol awaiting sacrifice. He watched Ulrika with his acute golden eyes, his ears pricked and alert.

     When she neared him, Ulrika said, "What do you want of me?" and then he vanished before her eyes, fading like shadows at noon, fading as the
wolf at General Vatinius's side had faded, until he was gone and Ulrika was left in the barren wilderness, her ankle throbbing, her mouth and throat parched with thirst, while jackals sent their unearthly yelps to the stars. Other predators, Ulrika knew, would soon be on the prowl.

     She turned and took a step, but her ankle gave way. With a cry she fell. When she tried to stand, she realized in horror that she could not. She was unable to walk.

     Exhaustion overwhelmed her. Every ounce of strength and energy seemed to have drained from her body. Tears stung her eyes as she massaged her leg and sensed the gathering of night creatures, circling her, watching, waiting.

     Ulrika felt the impersonal stars looking down at her, witnessing her distress. She felt the black sky and the cold winds as nature went about its business, ignoring the woman in peril.

     Help me, cried her frightened mind, sending her silent plea to the All Mother whom she had revered all her life.

     As she lay there, trying to gather strength to crawl back to the hills, Ulrika placed her hand over Sebastianus's scallop shell. It brought comfort. She pictured the man she loved, tall and strong, she conjured up his voice, his scent, the feel of his warmth and power. She wished she had gone to Babylon with him.

     Overcome with fatigue, Ulrika laid her head down and felt the desert sand beneath her cheek turn to cool grass, and when she opened her eyes, it was the middle of the day, with a pale blue sky above. And before her stood a woman, tall and beautiful, creating an altar of scallop shells, a wild, untamed countryside surrounding her, wind whipping her long hair, sculpting her long white gown into a marble masterpiece.

     "Who are you?" Ulrika said.

     The woman smiled in a secretive way, and whispered: You already know the answer.

     And Ulrika did know. She was the ancestress Sebastianus had spoken of. A distant priestess named Gaia, from whom he had descended.

     "Why do you appear to me?" Ulrika asked.

     "To tell you that there is nothing to fear."

     And then the altar and coastline vanished, and Ulrika was back in the mocking wasteland, stars winking overhead.

     And then she saw—

     Sebastianus!

     Ulrika sobbed with joy. He was here! In the Judean wilderness, coming toward her over the arid, salt-crusted ground, his blue cloak billowing about him like the sail of a mighty ship. She reached for him. "Sebastianus, you came back!"

     But it wasn't Sebastianus—a stranger stood before her. She could not get a good look at him, for light now emanated from his body—a blinding light glowing about his head like a brilliant nimbus, streaming out into the cosmos.

     And then a voice—it was not something she heard but rather felt all around her—a man's voice commanding: "Call out for help, Ulrika."

     "No, I must not, for then the animals will know where I am."

     "They already know where you are. They are closing in."

     Ulrika held her breath and listened. She heard soft footfall, rapid breathing, grunts.

     Her blood ran to ice. The beasts of the night were drawing near.

     "Call out for help," the glowing apparition said again. "Quickly! Now! Shout, Ulrika, fill the night with your voice."

     She opened her mouth but no sound came out. Her throat was too dry.

     "Again!" the shining spirit said. "At once! With all your strength!"

     Ulrika reached deep within herself, gathered the last of her strength and life force and, stretching her mouth wide, screamed at the top of her lungs. "Help me! Someone, please!
Help!"

     And suddenly Ulrika was surrounded by a warm light. It engulfed her, embraced her like loving arms, lifting her up, buoying as if on a golden sea. She felt waves of compassion and security wash over her. She heard the voice, deep and mellow, say, "Do not be afraid. Everything is going to be all right."

     Ulrika felt peaceful and serene. She had never known such calm, such quiescence. It was beautiful.

     I am dying, she thought in detachment. The animals have found me.
They are devouring me. This is what it is like to die. But I do not mind.

     "Hello? Is someone out there?"

     She ignored the call. It was only her imagination. And she didn't want to leave the light. The warmth was soft and precious. She wanted to stay in it forever.

     "Who is out there?"

     She opened her eyes. She blinked up at frigid stars overhead, felt the night cold sweep into her flesh, swift and biting. Where did the warmth and light go?

     Ulrika sucked air into her lungs, tried to gather strength into her limbs. What had just happened? Struggling to a sitting position, she looked around. The hills stood black and silent behind her. Ahead, the salt-sea lay silver in eerie starlight. Who had spoken just now?

     And then she saw the lights, bright little sparks growing larger as they drew near. A voice called, "Is someone there? Call out so that we can find you."

     "I am here!" Ulrika cried, struggling to sit up. She waved her arms. "Here, over here!"

     The bright glows drew near, and Ulrika saw that they were torches carried by two women. "Are you all right?" one of them asked.

     "Dear child," the older of them said, "are you out here all alone?"

     "I hurt my leg," Ulrika said. The women spoke a dialect that was prevalent in this part of the Empire—a mixture of "common" Greek and Aramaic, with which Ulrika was familiar.

     They reached for her and, each taking one of her arms, lifted Ulrika to her feet. The younger of the two, a woman in her forties with strength in her body, steadied Ulrika and helped her along over the ground.

     Wordlessly, they made their way to an outcropping of rock, passing around it and up a narrow ravine, where Ulrika saw a group of black goatskin tents standing protected from the wind. The older of the two women went into the largest of the tents, while the second placed her torch in a sconce outside, and then she helped Ulrika into the tent.

     Ulrika welcomed the blessed warmth and light within, and sank with relief onto a bed of blankets and sheepskins. As the younger of the two women handed Ulrika a cup of water, she said, "I am Rachel. This is Almah.
Welcome to our home, and peace be upon you."

     Ulrika gratefully sipped the water and told them her name, adding, "I was certain I was going to perish out there. I do not know what I would have done had you not found me."

     "We did not know you were out there," Rachel said. "And then we heard your call for help. It is a good thing you had the strength to cry out."

     "I almost didn't," Ulrika said, trying to recollect the vision that had come to her—first, an ancient priestess named Gaia, and then a stranger who seemed to glow with an inner light. It was he who had commanded Ulrika to call for help.

     Details of the dwelling's interior began to register on Ulrika's brain as the water refreshed her. Rachel's home was a typical desert tent with a center post holding up the ceiling, creating a spacious living area that was warmed by a charcoal brazier, brass and clay lamps glowing here and there. Rugs covered the floor, a small table held bowls, pitcher, utensils. A pair of sandals hung on a peg, along with a cloak, small and feminine. Ulrika assumed that the other tents she had glimpsed, smaller than this, were used for storage, or perhaps other people were sleeping there.

     With a smile, the older woman, Almah, gray-haired and bent beneath black clothes and a black veil, handed Ulrika a plate of sweet fig cakes and a bowl of dates. "Thank you," Ulrika said as she accepted this most welcome offering.

     While she ate, she wondered about her rescuers. Rachel was in her early forties, Ulrika would guess, slender, and dressed in a long gown that was gathered at the waist with a sash. The gown was made of soft wool dyed in brown and cream vertical stripes, and Rachel's thick black hair was concealed beneath a cowl-like veil of soft brown wool that pooled around her shoulders in gentle folds. She wore no jewelry, no cosmetics. But her face was arresting: square and tanned with large black eyes, wrinkled at the corners and framed by black lashes, thick black brows. Ulrika wondered why Rachel and her elderly companion seemed to live alone in this desolate place, or were there perhaps others whom she would meet in the morning?